


They Call Me.

by leithvoid



Category: Palaye Royale (Band)
Genre: Character Death, Drug Use, Gen, Self-Harm, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 21:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18106388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leithvoid/pseuds/leithvoid
Summary: Sometimes the world is too much for us, even if we have the whole world on our side. Our minds aren’t always on our side.





	They Call Me.

**Author's Note:**

> Previously called Your Voice.

Being in the spotlight for so many years and seeing how the public reacts to celebrities or someone of fame admitting to mental health issues taught Remington how to keep his own feelings under wraps. It was a quick lesson to learn; not to talk about how he truly felt in the public eye and so, slowly, that bleed into his personal life too and he stopped talking to his friends and family about his issues.

It was something that was common in the industry of musicians - to keep your mental health hidden, but in turn to write songs about it. That way, you could relate to the audience that followed you. It was almost the only outlet for some. It was a common theme that ran through the world of fame, a sad reality.

#

Remington walked out of the house and closed the door behind him, not checking the time but knowing it was well past 1:00 AM. It was cold outside, and there was a slight wind; living close to a beach there was always some kind of breeze. There were tears that seemed to be edging their way out and down his hot cheeks. He tried to convince himself that the wind that was creating the tears but he knew it wasn’t true. He’d been feeling very unhappy lately, unsatisfied with life. Alone.

As his boots hit the pavement he looked around at the quiet street around him. He didn’t have a destination in mind, he just wanted to walk. However, the more time he spent with his mind, the more time intrusive thoughts had to crawl in. The longer he walked, the closer he was to reaching the end of his street. The lights were low, barely illuminating the pavement Remington walked on. 

Once he reached the end of his street he turned around to head back to the house, now having spent too much time without music, his thoughts had become an impulse. He walked a little faster now. The thought to hurt himself grew stronger every step he took, getting closer to the house. 

Remington never really self harmed. It was something he did every now and again, in very dire situations. He was able to hold himself together or get drunk - though not the best way to stop himself, it was something. Because he performed, he knew he was unable to harm any part of his body above his waist. The real reason he wore pants, though it did go with his look, was to hide the damage he did to himself when he did it.

He arrived inside the quiet home, which was filled with his sleeping brothers. He walked up the stairs quietly, making sure to not wake them. There was no point. They wouldn't stop him. Or that’s what the thoughts made him think. Sebastian and Emerson would and have stopped him before, but his mind always told him they wouldn’t care if he told them.

Remington glided into the bathroom closest to his bedroom on the top floor of the house and locked the door behind himself. He wasn't going to make that mistake _again_. There had been times before when one of his brother’s had come into the bathroom in the middle of Remington's business. It turned into a whole ordeal he couldn’t be bothered going through tonight.

He stood in the dark bathroom for a couple minutes contemplating what he was planning to do, he’d not thought much past actually cutting himself. Remington turned on the light on, and for a moment, was blinded by the brightness as his eyes adjusted. He pulled open the top drawer and pulled out a razor. It was a cheap one, easy to pull apart.

Remington spent a few moment’s pulling the sides apart and then slipping out the three blades that sat atop each other inside the plastic. For a moment he held one, shining it in the light, watching it reflect a white light onto the walls around him. It was mesmerising for a time - he was distracted. Once he realised he was lost he got back to the task at hand.

He pulled the door of the shower open and reached in, turning the water on and undressing himself before he got in. For a few minutes he ran his legs under the warm water. Something he had realised over the years was soft skin was easier to cut, so he softened the skin on his legs.

He ran the steel across his soft, slightly pink thigh. At first the sharp pain was jarring, but then the relief flooded through him, even though he was shaking slightly. He didn’t stop, his mind drunk on the feeling of the pain, releasing endorphins inside his brain. The water ran a soft red when he’d finished, his leg shaking from the pain now.

He let the water run over the open wounds for a couple minutes before he got out. He took his time drying his body and then tending to the cuts on his tight, drying them with tissues and then adding some antiseptic cream. He did what he could to avoid any kind of infections developing, as he didn’t want to explain to anyone - not even a doctor.. 

He headed back to his bedroom and sighed, sitting on the edge of his bed. The pain was there but not demanding. Of course he’d thought that this would have been enough, but he brain decided to run with the thoughts and escalate with them. As the intrusive thoughts became darker, they gave him more reasons to not want to be here. Like how his brothers wouldn’t even stop him if he’d woken them tonight, which of course wasn’t true. No one liked his music, the amount of hecklers who yelled at him on stage that they were bad, or they threw gay slurs at him. Remington forgot how much he felt alone in the world until he was actually alone - he felt so empty inside, like nothing he did really mattered.

Remington had been hiding drugs for a couple months, buying from a dealer who lived closer to the city every couple weeks. He was not well versed in heroin, nor did he actually want to be - the less he knew, the better. He pulled out the small shoe box from under his bed. Inside contained a bottle of assorted pills, as well as a needle. The needle was prefilled with a yellow liquid. His mind told him that this was his best and quickest option.

He emptied the contents of the box onto the bed. Moving back to sit against this headboard, he grabbed the bottle of pills. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure what was in it. He only knew of one of the pills inside the yellow container, but it was a mix. He twisted the cap of the bottle off and emptied roughly half of the contents into his hand, took the cup of Jack Daniels and Coke from his bedside table, and swallowed them. 

Something he did know was he was not going to get an immediate reaction from these drugs. He would have to wait half an hour - or an hour even - till he felt anything.

He was impatient. 

He looked around for something he could use as a tourniquet. He spotted a bandana on his bedside table and wrapped it around the top of his arm. Clenching his hand into a fist a couple of times, trying to get a vein to appear. Remington pulled the cap of the needle off with his teeth and then pushed the needle into his arm. 

It was sharp at first. The pain of the needle going in was nothing compared to how the drug felt as it entered and coursed through his blood stream. It burned for a couple of minutes, but slowly he drifted off. His body became lighter and lighter, like he was floating with no gravity holding him to his bed; it felt like he was in space, like he was a spaceman. He could stay there forever. 

His lids began growing heavier over several minutes. Body feeling nothing but the absence of gravity. Nothing mattered anymore; the world around him, the place he once was. It wasn’t even comprehensible to him at his point. 

His heartbeat slowed over the next half hour as the overdose of pills and heroin took full effect on him. He drifted into darkness softly; no rush, no pain. He was just there, and he was happy. Smile on his soft and fragile face.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you too @lovethevoid for editing this piece with me.


End file.
